Kongen af Pelikanien Review: Tall, Short, and Surprisingly Comfy

If you have got about an hour and you do not mind reading subtitles—or just guessing what is happening—Kongen af Pelikanien is actually a pretty good time. It is perfect for anyone who likes old-school slapstick, but if you cannot stand silent movies where people over-act with their eyebrows, you will probably want to skip it.

Carl Schenstrøm and Harald Madsen are the main draw here, and they have this weird, magnetic energy together. One is really tall and thin, and the other is short and round; it is the classic visual gag that somehow never gets old for me. 🤡

The whole thing takes place in a fake country called Pelikanien. It looks like the set designers just grabbed whatever was left over from a theater production and hoped nobody would notice the the seams.

There is this one scene involving a uniform that is way too big. The way Harald Madsen tries to keep his pants up while saluting is the kind of clumsy genius you do not see anymore.

It reminds me a bit of the physical humor in Oh, Baby!, though maybe a bit more European in its weirdness. The plot is kind of a mess, honestly.

I think they were trying to make a point about royalty or something, but it mostly feels like an excuse to have them fall over things. The pace is a bit slow at the start, like the camera was still warming up.

But once they get to the palace, things pick up. I noticed a background extra in one shot who looked genuinely confused about where they were supposed to stand.

It is not as tightly plotted as something like The Circular Staircase, but it is not trying to be. It just wants to be a silly romp through a world that doesn't exist.

There is a lot of smoking in this movie. Like, an impressive amount of cigars for a lighthearted comedy.

The music on the version I watched was a bit tinny, but it fit the vibe. You can tell these guys were huge stars back then because the camera just lingers on thier faces even when nothing is happening.

Sometimes the silence is a bit much. You are just staring at a guy in a big hat for thirty seconds while he thinks about a sandwich.

But then he makes a face and it is fine again. It is definitely better than some of the drier stuff from that era like Miraklet: Tavlor ur det katolska samfundslivet.

I liked the part where they try to act like high-society gentlemen. They look so uncomfortable in fancy clothes, like they are wearing suits made of wood.

The ending feels a bit rushed, like they ran out of film or the sun was going down. It just... stops. 📽️

Anyway, it is a nice little discovery if you find it. Not a masterpiece, but it is honest work from a duo that knew thier audience.

Marguerite Viby shows up and she has a great screen presence even if she doesn't have much to do. She just sort of lights up the frame when she is there.

The way the movie handles the King aspect is funny because the kingdom feels like it is only about two blocks wide. You never see more than five people on screen at once during the crowd scenes.

It gives the whole thing a very dream-like and slightly cheap quality. I found myself wondering what the catering was like on a Danish film set in 1928.

Probably just a lot of coffee and rye bread. The humor is very gentle, almost sweet in its simplicity.

It is the kind of movie you could show a kid and they would get the jokes, even if they cannot read the cards. Physical comedy is the universal language, I guess.

Even if the grammar in my head is getting a bit fuzzy after watching it. The mustache on the palace guard is definitely fake.

You can see the spirit gum peeling off in the close-ups if you look really close. Details like that make me love these old films even more.

It feels more real than a modern CGI explosion. It is a bit like watching Just Dogs—you are mostly there to see the characters react to things they don't understand.

It is certainly more cheerful than something like Baree, Son of Kazan. The lighting in the indoor palace scenes is actually surprisingly moody for a comedy.

It is like they were filming a horror movie and then the comedians walked onto the wrong set. In Denmark, these two were known as Fy og Bi, which sounds like a brand of crackers.

There is a bit with a chair that just kept going. The tall guy, Schenstrøm, tries to sit down, but his legs are just too long for the furniture.

It reminded me of the struggle in The Way of a Girl, but with more tripping. The name Pelikanien makes me think of birds, but I did not see a single pelican.

That is the kind of missed opportunity that only happens in 1928. I also noticed that the floor in the main hall looks like it was painted on.

You can see the actors trying not to slip on the smooth wood. It makes the whole thing feel like a very expensive home movie.

Which, in a way, is why it is so charming to watch now. It does not feel like it was made by a giant corporation with a marketing plan.

It feels like a bunch of friends found a camera and some costumes. Except the friends are actually world-class performers who know exactly how to fall down. 🇩🇰